


Control

by hanniballsohard



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Biting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanniballsohard/pseuds/hanniballsohard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Abigail Hobbs' father is gunned down by the FBI, she is required to attend twice-weekly sessions with her school's counselling psychologist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Concerned for his student's welfare, biology teacher Will Graham intervenes but soon finds himself caught in a web of seduction, blackmail, and crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Abigail felt a low hum in her ears, as though an electrical current were being passed from one side of her skull to the other. Her mouth gaped, fish-like, and it seemed as though time was drifting as slowly downwards as the falling Autumn leaves outside. Principal Crawford made an effort to look anywhere but her eyes. His voice was kind, but stilted, and his awkward posture belied his discomfort. It helped to focus on him. It helped to forget herself. Crawford rose to pour himself a glass of water and offered her the same by way of tilting an empty glass in her direction.  
"No thank you," she whispered. He nodded solemnly.  
"When can I see my mother?" she asked, trying to mask the cracking of her voice.  
Crawford drank from his glass before sighing deeply.  
"Not for a while I'm afraid, Abigail. Your mother is in critical condition. It may be some time before she's able to see visitors."  
"But I'm not a visitor," she croaked. "I'm her daughter."  
Her resolve quaking, panic seeped into Crawford's eyes. He was ill-equipped for situations like this. He wished Bella was with him. She was the comforting one. Order he could handle. Grieving teenagers he could not. 

A knock came to the door, allowing Crawford an excuse to hop from his seat. Abigail roughly brushed her tear-slicked cheeks with her sweater sleeve, leaving her skin flushed and warm. Crawford opened the door and mumbled a greeting to someone Abigail did not turn to see. If it was another student, she didn't want them to see her face. By tomorrow they'd already know about her father. About what he did to her mother. About what he did to those young girls. Her stomach lurched and she reached for the jug of water. She messily splashed her share into the empty glass and gulped it backwards in an attempt to quell her nausea.  
"Abigail?" The principal sounded more at ease somehow. She turned to face him, still pale and dizzy from thinking. Beside Crawford stood a well-groomed middle-aged man. He was elegantly, albeit casually, attired and his face bore a distinguished handsomeness that Abigail had never witnessed quite so closely before.  
"Abigail, this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter." The doctor smiled softly and extended a hand, which Abigail accepted gingerly. Releasing him, she slowly returned to her seat. Crawford gestured to Lecter to take a seat beside her, before returning behind his desk.  
"Dr. Lecter is a counselling psychologist. Though he is not, strictly speaking, a member of our faculty, he has kindly agreed to help you during this difficult time," Crawford spoke in measured tones, as if he were choosing his words carefully.  
"Help...me?" Abigail asked, her head swimming. Crawford looked to Lecter who nodded warmly in response.  
"Grief can be a very trying process, Abigail. You've been through a remarkable ordeal and have suffered a great loss," he said.  
"My mother isn't dead yet," Abigail said blankly. Hannibal nodded.  
"I was referring to your father."  
Abigail's eyes darkened.  
"Oh." She turned to Crawford, her brow furrowed.  
"Why can't Miss Bloom see me instead?" Crawford folded his hands and shot Lecter an apologetic look.  
"Miss Bloom and I decided that given your very...particular circumstances, it would be best you spoke to someone more qualified."  
"Qualified with what?"  
"Well..." Crawford thought for a moment.  
"You might find the next few weeks to be quite difficult, Abigail," Lecter intervened. "Not only will you have your grief to contend with, but given the nature of your father's death you might find yourself the subject of some unwanted attention, both at school and in the media."  
Abigail's breath caught in her throat.  
"Why would the media be talking about me?" Crawford shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
"Because they're parasites. And sadly, Abigail, misery is very attractive to them." The doctor answered. His steely eyes held her gaze as she blinked away a fresh bout of tears. Leaning across to her from his chair, he placed a warm hand on her forearm.  
"We all just want to help you. If you decide after a session or two that you are not comfortable, or wish to continue your counselling elsewhere under someone else's supervision, I will respect your wishes."  
A ghost of a smile showed her gratitude.  
"Will I have to miss classes?" she asked.  
Crawford chuckled to himself, growing silent when he realized his moment of mirth might not be appropriate.  
"No, between us we've decided that after-school sessions in Dr. Lecter's own practice is the most suitable option."  
Abigail turned once more to Lecter.  
"In your practice?" She turned back to Crawford, concerned.  
"Travel arrangements have been taken care of. Mr. Graham has agreed to drive you to and from sessions after school for the sake of discretion."  
"Mr. Graham the biology teacher?" Abigail thought briefly of the twitchy, often stern, Mr. Graham that she knew. His youthful looks always seemed almost comically at odds with his aged demeanor.  
"Until your mother's condition improves you'll be staying with your aunt, Lynn. She's already been notified and will be waiting to bring you home once you leave this office." Crawford said.  
"She's not really taking me home though, is she?" Abigail said, turning her gaze to the falling leaves beyond the window. Lecter eyed her with curiosity.  
"Not to your house, no." Crawford replied, fidgeting.  
Abigail closed her eyes, feeling her eyelids growing heavy, and breathed deeply. She turned back to Crawford, her face drawn with exhaustion.  
"Can I go now? I'm really tired."  
Crawford immediately stood to attention, with Lecter slowly following his lead.  
"Of course! I appreciate it's a lot to take in right now. Get some rest and we'll continue this at a more suitable time."  
Lecter nodded in agreement. "Your aunt has my number. If ever you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me."  
She rose to leave, lifting her backpack from where it lay at her feet.  
"And, Abigail?" Crawford swayed indecisively, his sympathy for the young girl crippling him. "You've been very brave today."  
She looked at them both and managed a curt smile. "Thank you."

*************************************************

Abigail waited patiently in the faculty parking lot as Mr. Graham gathered his things inside. It had been a week already, and some had thought that her decision to return to school so soon might be premature. But she couldn't stand another day indoors. Her aunt Lynn hardly knew what to say to her, alternating between begging her to eat more and bursting into tearful apologies. She needed to take her mind off things, and sadly school was her only opportunity to do so. She could sit quietly with her friends and listen to their idle chatter, or gaze blankly at the board during class, and convince herself that everything was normal. In some ways, she still felt normal. Numb, but normal. She supposed it wouldn't sink in fully until after her father's funeral. His body was still being kept in the morgue. She thought of him, dead-eyed on a slab, limbs cold and heavy, bloating softly...  
"Abigail Hobbs?"  
A woman's voice woke her from her macabre reverie. She slowly turned her gaze upwards, meeting the eyes of a smiling redhead.  
"Yes?"  
The woman offered a gloved hand.  
"Freddie Lounds, Tattlecrime.com. May I speak with you a moment?"  
Abigail was dazed by her enthusiasm. Before she could ask the stranger another question, Miss Lounds already had a dictaphone poised and whirring in front of her face.  
"Tattlecrime...?"  
"We're an independent news blog specializing in investigative journalism and crime correspondence. If I could just have a minute of your time-"  
Abigail eyed the woman with a mixture of confusion and disgust.  
"I don't think- No, can you please just leave-"  
"Hey!" Graham shouted across the lot, throwing a bundle of books to the ground. Lounds calmly switched off her dictaphone and straightened up, her smile still intact.  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Graham barked. He turned to Abigail. "Was she bothering you?"  
Abigail looked at her feet, feeling awkward and overwhelmed.  
"Get out of here," Graham warned Lounds. She merely smiled in response.  
"Perhaps you could give me a soundbite? Any insight to share on adolescents experiencing loss? What about her classmates? Has Abigail experienced any bullying since the incident?"  
Graham raised his hand, shaking with frustration, his finger pointed squarely at Lounds.  
"The only bully here is you and your kind. Leave her alone or I'll be forced to call the cops."  
"Given recent events, it would be a shame to waste police time, Mister-?"  
Graham merely scowled and turned away from her.  
"Come on, Abigail. Let's go." As he hastily picked up his discarded books, Abigail rushed to the passenger side of his car. Lounds grabbed her by the arm and thrust a business card into her hand.  
"In case you change your mind." she said with a wink, before strutting away from the school grounds. Abigail watched her leave, shaken, as Graham returned to the car.  
"Sorry about that," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have left you waiting out here."  
He opened his door and threw the books onto the backseat. Taking her cue from him, Abigail hopped in. She was immediately hit with a heavy, canine odor.  
"Do you have a dog?" she asked, breathing through her mouth, as she fastened her seatbelt.  
"A few," he said, blushing. 

They were silent for most of the journey, which suited them both fine. Though the journey seemed prolonged by the silence, they each appreciated the other's avoidance of small talk. Remembering something, Graham eventually broke the silence.  
"Oh, I brought you something by the way," he said, tilting his head towards the text books on the back seat. Abigail raised an eyebrow, not entirely impressed.  
"You brought me homework?"  
Graham smiled shyly.  
"Thought it might help. Just to give you something else to concentrate on."  
Abigail cursed herself for being so initially dismissive.  
"Thanks. That's kinda thoughtful."

Pulling up in front of the building, Abigail felt a knot of dread form in her stomach.  
"Nervous?" Graham asked, noticing the blood had drained from her face. She nodded hollowly.  
"I don't blame you."  
"What are you going to do while I'm inside?" she asked.  
"I'll just hang out here."  
She raised an eyebrow and he became coyly flustered.  
"I have some papers to grade, things to look over. Anyway, it means you won't be waiting for me again."  
He smiled apologetically. He seemed so delicate, Abigail thought. As if he was as close to breaking as she was. He always seemed so shaken.  
"You'd better go, you'll be late." he warned. She nodded, bracing herself, and exited the car.

***********************************************

Lecter's office was grandiose beyond anything Abigail had seen before. Towering bookshelves fringed by a mezzanine brushed high, grand ceilings. Exotic momentos from across the glove adorned the walls. Each surface dripped with rich colours and intricate textures. Abigail felt she could lose herself entirely in the room, studying the various curios Lecter had accumulated. The doctor himself, every bit as opulent and aesthetically pleasing as his surroundings, sat across from Abigail with his hands folded on his lap.  
"I'm glad you agreed to come today, Abigail," he said.  
"I'm not really sure how these sorta things are supposed to work," she said. He smiled.  
"Don't worry, it's nothing scary. You decide what we talk about, or don't talk about. You're entirely in control here."  
The idea of being in control took Abigail aback. She didn't feel in control. Since that afternoon in Crawford's office, she had felt entirely at the mercy of her new circumstances. Before that, she had been at the mercy of her father.  
"How about we start slow. How have you been feeling this week?" the doctor asked.  
"I...I don't really know," she said. She smiled sadly. "Sorry, I'm bad at this."  
Lecter shook his head.  
"No good or bad, Abigail." he said. "You're not being graded on performance here." He smiled, and she returned the expression appreciatively.  
"I just feel...empty..." she said. "And guilty, too I think."  
Lecter leaned forward slightly.  
"Why do you feel guilty, Abigail?"  
Abigail bit her lip, trying to choose her words before she spoke.  
"Because of what happened to my mom. Because I wasn't there to protect her."  
Hannibal's gaze bore into her with an intensity that unnerved her.  
"And..." she faltered, her pulse booming in her ears.  
"Abigail?"  
She shook her head.  
"I just feel guilty because of my mom."

She turned her gaze away from him, allowing it to rest on a statuette of a stag. The decorative beast bellowed noiselessly, its antlers thrust upwards. Abigail shuddered. Lecter watched her, regarding her unblinkingly. She rose from her seat in order to study the statuette more closely.  
"My dad used to hunt deer," she said, brushing a finger over the metal antlers. "Does, mostly. At least when I was with him. He shot some prize stags sometimes, though. He kept all the antlers."  
She smiled to herself as Lecter continued to watch her.  
"I had a friend in middle school who was a vegetarian. One day she came over to our house and saw all the antlers and started crying."  
"Hunting is an unpopular sport," Lecter mused. Abigail turned to face him.  
"People think that you have to be cruel to kill an animal like that, but my dad loved those deer. To hear him talk about them..." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I don't think he could've done what he did if he didn't love them."  
"You were quite close to your father," Lecter stated, Abigail still hovering by the statue. "It must be difficult to accept that he had secrets."  
Abigail stared coldly at the doctor.  
"Yeah."  
Lecter smirked, laying his notepad down beside him.  
"Tell me, Abigail, did you have secrets from your father?"  
She rolled her eyes, smiling, as she made her way back to her seat.  
"I'm a teenage girl, Dr. Lecter," she said, raising an eyebrow sardonically. He laughed curtly.  
"Indeed you are. Was your father a controlling figure? Did he stifle you?"  
Abigail considered this momentarily.  
"He didn't like me seeing boys. That was his big thing. I remember..." she huffed a laugh. "I remember when I was 13 a boy in our neighbourhood came to our house to ask me to a school dance. He'd obviously tried so hard, he was holding this weedy little carnation and everything. My dad was really calm with him at the door but when he came inside he just lost it." Her face became drawn again. "He was just yelling about how dangerous it was to be going to places alone with boys, and how it was my fault because I'd made him notice me. He said that boys did horrible things when they wanted something, and that I should just keep away."  
Lecter placed a hand beneath his chin.  
"And did you?" He asked. She giggled coyly.  
"No."  
"Did he ever find out?"  
She shook her head.  
"I admire your discretion," he said, grinning cheekily. 

He rose from his seat and strode to a nearby cabinet.  
"Speaking of discretion, may I offer you a drink?" he asked. "Rest assured, I won't tell Principal Crawford."  
Abigail shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  
"I don't know..."  
Lecter produced two wine glasses from the cabinet.  
"I was about to grab one for myself, I hope you don't mind. Many patients find it relaxes them during their session."  
He corked a bottle of Pinot Noir and allowed it to breathe.  
"Besides, we're still taking things slowly today. It only needs to be as serious as you want it to be."  
Abigail met his gaze and smiled.  
"OK, a glass can't hurt."  
He poured a generous glass for each of them before sitting on a green sofa, a few feet from her.  
"Join me," he offered. "You've done well so far, let's enjoy a moment of ease."  
Abigail cautiously took a seat beside him, becoming immediately aware of the space his lean, commanding form occupied next to her. She raised her glass in mock-toast, and he obliged by clinking his against it.  
"I'm still not sure if I'm doing this right," she said, taking a small sip of her wine. "Is it weird that I can talk about my dad like that? I feel like it should be different."  
"The father you knew, who hunted and forbade you from seeing boys, he's not dead. He can't be erased because he is still a significant part of your life, and perhaps always will be. His death cannot destroy his effect on you."  
"I wish it could." she said absently.  
Lecter looked into her eyes, and softly touched her hand. Feeling her pulse quicken, Abigail placed her glass on the ground.  
"I should go."  
Lecter tilted his head in acceptance.  
"As stated earlier, you are entirely in control. I do hope you'll consider returning for at least another session before you make any definite decisions."  
She rose from her seat, feeling suddenly warm and flustered. She grabbed her jacket from the chair where she had left it, as Lecter rose to show her to the door. In a moment of pure impulse, she spun around to face him, rising up on her toes to kiss him. In an instant she flushed red and dropped to her feet.  
"I'm sorry-" she gasped. "I'm so sorry."  
With that, she fled from the office. Lecter watched after her, the tip of his tongue licking away the last taste of her from his lips.

******************************************

Abigail looked out the window for most of the journey home, her back turned towards Will. Though he respected her silence, he couldn't help but feel worried about her.  
"How did it go?" he tentatively asked.  
"Fine," came her hollow reply.  
"Do you think you'll go back?"  
She was silent. She thought about her moment of abandon, and pressed her legs tighter together. It had seemed so easy to talk to him about her father, about herself. She had let herself go too much, and she recognized that this was dangerous. And yet she had wanted to kiss him so badly. She couldn't quite understand it. 'How pathetic,' she thought. 'The first person who isn't afraid to talk openly to me and I respond by wanting to jump their bones'. She ran a hand through her hair.  
"Maybe," she said. "I think so."


	2. Chapter 2

Abigail lay in bed, motionless, until she felt certain she could no longer hear Lynn drifting from room to room, turning off the lights. Satisfied that her aunt must now be sleeping, she allowed herself to relax somewhat as she trailed a hand down across the front of her underwear. She thought about her session the day before. She thought about Dr. Lecter. She struggled to recall his scent, the feeling of his skin against hers as he brushed her hand. She pressed her fingers down against herself, still veiled by the cloth of her underwear, teasing herself. She rocked her hips slowly forward towards her own touch, gasping shortly when they reached their peak. Fabric dampening beneath her fingertips, she thought about him asking about her secrets. About the things she had done with boys. She wanted to show him what they had done, what she had done to them. Things her father did not know, could never know.

Her father.

She slowed her hand to a halt, recoiling at the thought. She called Lecter back into her mind, sneaking her fingers beneath her waistline. Dr. Lecter with his crisp, elegant clothes and his chiselled face. Her fingers soft and wet, she traced gentle circles around her clit, arching her back in small thrusts of pleasure.   
Dr. Lecter who was clean, and open. Dr. Lecter who was everything her father was not. 

Her father.

She closed her eyes tightly, pushing him from her mind. 

Her father and all those girls. Those girls with faces just like hers.

She shut them out. She imagined Lecter, his body pressing against hers, his breath hot in her ear. His hands tracing the edges of her thighs, moving up and up. Her middle and ring fingers worked in alternate patterns, coaxing her into climax. She imagined his hand on her head, fingers quivering as they swept through her hair, as his swollen cock parted her wet lips, pushing towards her throat. Gripped by the force of her rising orgasm, Abigail lurched forward, her head craned back as her back arched. As she allowed her pleasure to envelop her, she pictured Lecter softly stroking her hair, his face beautifully contorted as she brought him to climax with her mouth. In control. She was in control.  
As her orgasm reached its peak, her mind quickly flashed the image of the statuette, the small stag. Her climax ebbing away in pulses of fading ecstasy, she wept in horror as she remembered the antler room. 

The cabin. 

Her father.

She knew, in that moment, that Lecter was right – that her father would never truly be dead. She turned on her side, strands of hair matting against her tears, feeling ashamed, alone, and very much out of control.

*****************************************************

Graham pulled up outside Lecter’s practice and frowned.

“Is it me, or have our silences gone from being comfortable to uncomfortable?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. Abigail smiled, not meeting his gaze.  
“Sorry.”  
“Don’t be sorry,” he sighed. “I know you’re going through a lot – more than anyone your age should have to go through. I just…I don’t know.”  
He shrugged, bashful.  
“I just like to check in every now and again.”  
She looked up at him, finding his expression achingly sincere.  
“Thank you, Mr. Graham,” she said. “Sometimes I think people have already forgotten about what happened. Mostly I think they just avoid bringing it up.”  
He nodded knowingly.  
“Helplessness can make people seem cold sometimes,” he mused, his brow crinkled above his glasses.   
“Most people are afraid to reach out,” he continued. 

They sat in silence for a moment as Graham winced in discomfort.   
“I just want you to know…” he began. She looked on quizzically as he tried to express something she supposed was very important to him.   
“I’ll try to be brave for you, Abigail,” he said, the words leaving him like a great weight. “I won’t forget what happened to you.”  
She sat staring at him, stunned by his outpouring of support.   
“I really appreciate that,” she said, trying to sound strong. He simply nodded, awkwardly adjusting his glasses.  
“I’ll just wait out here like last time,” he mumbled.  
Abigail smiled and prepared to leave. Before doing so, she turned once more to Graham, her expression brighter than he’d seen over the past few days.   
“Mr. Graham?” she said. “Can I meet your dogs sometime?”  
He laughed airily, the first time she had heard him do so. She savoured what she guessed was a rare occurrence.   
“OK,” he said. “We can work that out.”  
With that, she left.

***********************************************

Finding she was early, Abigail waited outside Lecter’s office, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She’d apologise as soon as she entered, she decided. She’d put it down to her current state of mind. She didn’t know what she was doing, and she was sorry. He could help her. She knew what she was feeling towards him was wrong, and he could help her. 

From just beyond the door she could hear loud, low sobbing. She heard Lecter’s voice mumble something in a reassuring tone and the sobbing dulled somewhat. She wondered how many patients he treated at the practice, if they had problems that made hers look like nothing. She wondered if any of his other patients found him attractive, and if he was ever tempted to act on his own attractions to them. No, of course not. Lecter was a professional, she thought. He would never abuse a patient’s trust for the sake of a thrill. The sobbing stopped and she could hear both men speaking to one another calmly, then the sound of their footsteps approaching the door. She looked down at her feet, allowing her hair to curtain her peripheral vision. She was afraid of seeing his other patients. She didn’t want them to recognize her, and she was worried about looking directly at them. She could imagine how vulnerable his patients were, the pain they must be in. She worried that by looking at them she might cry. 

The door opened and a rotund, bearded man emerged, followed by Dr. Lecter, hovering in the doorframe.  
“I’ll see you next week, Franklyn,” the Doctor said. “Try to use those exercises we discussed.”  
The man idled in front of him, the hem of his corduroy jacket in Abigail’s line of vision.  
“Y’know, there’s this really fantastic local food market on this weekend, I thought you might like to join me,” the man offered.  
Abigail concealed a giggle. Perhaps his other patients did find him attractive.  
“Thank you, Franklyn, but I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged. Perhaps another time.”  
Lecter’s tone was polite but sharp. Abigail bristled at the sound.  
“You’re sure I can’t tempt you?” Franklyn asked. “It really seems like something you’d like. I mean, I figure. You and I have similar interests, so I supposed-“  
“It’s quite impossible,” Lecter interrupted. “You’ll have to tell me all about it during your next session.”  
Seemingly happy with this response, Franklyn bid the Doctor a fond farewell and left. Abigail slowly raised her head, her hair falling softly back into place.  
“Good afternoon, Abigail,” Lecter smiled. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”  
Abigail blushed.  
“Dr. Lecter, about the other day-“ she began.  
“Think nothing of it,” he assured. “You’re in a vulnerable state at present. I can accept how confusing things must be. You must be able to forgive your own moments of irrationality.”  
He extended an arm to guide her into the office but she hesitated.  
“Please,” she said. “I just want to apologise. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, and that’s my fault. I just want to say that I’m sorry.”  
He smiled broadly.  
“Well, I respectfully accept your apology,” he said. “Now, come take a seat.”  
Relieved, she rose to her feet and entered.

***********************************************

Sunlight was fading, and Abigail assumed their session must be soon coming to an end. She found, to her surprise, that she didn’t quite want to leave. Their talk had been easy, despite occasionally drifting to the subject of her father, and she was loathe to return to the outside where she hid behind a façade of normality. Lecter, seeming to wrap up the session for the day, placed his notebook to one side.  
“Tell me, Abigail, I’m curious,” he began. “Why do you think you kissed me last time?”  
She paled, but he did not break eye contact. If he sensed her panic, he didn’t show it.  
He rose to his feet, and took slow, measured steps, tightly pacing.  
“I-I’m not sure,” she said, turning red.  
He smiled at her, his eyes dark.  
“How did you feel during our last session?” he asked. “Many patients find it to be very difficult. It can be taxing to allow yourself to become so vulnerable at the hands of a stranger.”  
“You think I kissed you so I’d feel less vulnerable? To make the session…I don’t know, intimate or something?”  
“It’s not impossible,” he replied. “Typically we’re at our most open within intimate relationships; friends, lovers.”  
She felt her face sear with heat.  
“I wasn’t trying to become your lover or anything, Dr. Lecter,” her voice cracked with embarrassment. He grew still, standing just a few feet before her. He loomed over her, his expression dark, and she could hear her pulse thumping in her ears.  
“Are you entirely sure?” he asked, taking a step towards her.   
“Dr. Lecter, I don’t think I should-“ He placed a hand on her head, silencing her. Her voice lowered to a whisper.  
“I should go, Mr. Graham is waiting for me.”  
He silently undid the zip of his trousers, lacing her hair around his fingers with his free hand. Her breathing became shallow as she watched him firmly grasp his erection in one hand and brought himself closer to her.  
“In the interests of your therapy,” he said, his voice calm and resolute. “We’re going to try something different.”  
She looked up at him, eyes glassy. This was wrong, she thought. It shouldn’t happen like this. She needed to be in control.   
“Open your mouth,” he crooned.   
“Dr. Lecter, please,” she said, struggling to find emotion in his eyes.  
“Open your mouth,” he repeated, tugging her hair just tightly enough to emphasise his intentions. Shaking, she complied, taking as much of his length as she could manage into her mouth. He jerked back, surprising her.  
“Gradually,” he instructed. “Ease into it.”  
She pressed her lips gently to the head of his cock, as if kissing it chastely. She ran the tip of her tongue around the small gap she made with her lips, making slow circles. Bit by bit, she eased her mouth open, allowing her tongue to encircle the head of his throbbing erection, pulling it slowly closer into her mouth. He placed his other hand on her head. Other than that one movement, he showed no obvious signs of pleasure.   
She bobbed her head slightly, allowing her tongue to traverse the length of his cock while in her mouth. Her eyes watered as she swallowed gently, coaxing it back further to the point that it rubbed the back of her throat. 

Suddenly, the door opened. Hearing the sound, Abigail’s eyes shot open. Lecter’s hands kept her in place.  
“What the hell is going on here?” Graham demanded, frozen in front of the doorway.   
Lecter didn’t budge. Instead, he eyed Graham with dark curiosity.  
“Mr. Graham, I assume?” he asked, as he gently pushed Abigail off himself and fixed his clothing.  
“Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he said, extending a hand. Graham did not take it, instead eyeing Lecter with impotent rage. Lecter, unfazed, made his way to the door.  
“Abigail, grab your things, we’re leaving,” Graham announced. Lecter casually closed and locked the door.  
“Abigail, remove your clothes please,” Lecter said, pocketing the key.  
Abigail stared, wide-eyed, looking from one man to the other.  
“That’s enough,” Graham barked. “We’re leaving.”  
Lecter looked at Abigail, staring her down. She looked once more to Graham before gingerly removing her sweater.  
“Abigail-“ Graham began, eyes wide with horror.  
“We’re performing some experimental therapy,” Lecter said. “Perhaps you could assist.”  
Lecter made his way to the green sofa and sat down as Abigail continued to strip. Graham scrambled to pick up Abigail’s discarded clothing, and bring them to her.  
“Abigail, listen to me,” his voice strained with urgency. “Abigail, you’re not well. We need to get you out of here.”  
“He can help me,” Abigail assured. “He said I have control.”  
Lecter smirked at Graham.  
“Abigail, come here a moment please,” he said. Abigail approached him, and he softly sat her onto his lap.  
“Mr. Graham, I’d like you to place a hand between Abigail’s legs.”  
Graham grimaced.  
“You’re disgusting,” he said. “Abigail, please. Come with me.”  
Abigail didn’t budge, remaining still on Lecter’s lap and he stroked the sides of her breasts with the back of his hands.  
“Put your hand between her legs and tell me how she feels,” he instructed.   
“Mr. Graham,” she spoke, her eyes pleading with him. “Please.”  
Graham rubbed his brow, his eyes shut tightly.  
“Dr. Lecter, please. If you stop this, I won’t inform the authorities. Just please let her go.”  
Abigail spread her legs delicately, and Graham turned his face away, shaking.  
“Tell me how she feels,” the Doctor repeated.  
Abigail beckoned to Graham with heavy-lidded eyes. He cautiously walked towards her, stopping right in front of the sofa.  
“Mr. Graham,” she gasped as Lecter kneaded her breasts. “Please.”


	3. Chapter 3

Will’s hand shook, still by his side, as he watched Abigail respond to Lecter’s touch. Seeing her young, naked form draped across the older man stirred a potent mix of shame and desire within him. Lecter stared him down, daring him to make a move. He clenched and unclenched his fists, beads of sweat gathering upon his troubled brow. He drank in every detail, feeling himself grow weaker. The glint of Lecter’s tongue as he lightly licked the corner of his lips. The glint of Abigail’s eyes beneath the dark canopy of her lashes.   
Exhaling deeply, he reached out and placed a hand between Abigail’s legs. She gasped softly, surprised by his touch. Lecter smirked, noting that Graham did not pull his hand away.   
“Tell me how she feels,” he said.  
Graham breathed heavily, not meeting the Doctor’s gaze. Between his gentle strokes, Abigail noticed Graham’s erection pushing against the fabric of his pants. They wanted to help her, she thought. She was in control. They would help. Graham bit his lip, placing his free hand on Abigail’s thigh.  
“She’s…wet,” he rasped, flushed and glistening.  
Lecter slowly placed a hand beside Graham’s, being careful not to stimulate Abigail too generously. She would have to wait. Abigail heaved with frustration, the gentle touches of both men holding her over a precipice. Lecter kept his eyeline at Graham’s, willing him to meet his gaze.  
“She certainly is,” he eventually said. His fingers brushed Graham’s, both hands absently trailing the subtle rises and falls of her sex. Her entire body cried out for release, involuntarily jerking whenever either man accidentally brushed her clit. Trying to keep his breathing steady, Graham finally looked up at Lecter. The older man’s dark, maroon eyes bore into him, reflecting the light of the room in ruby specks. Graham felt he was at breaking point, gripped by a desire stronger than anything he’d ever experienced. The decadence of the grand office and the perversions it hid from the outside world were beyond anything he’d even dared to dream.   
“Do you want to fuck her, Mr. Graham?” Lecter drawled.   
Abigail’s bosom heaved. She couldn’t bear much more teasing. If Lecter himself would not spare her this frustration, she would gladly accept Graham.   
“Yes…,” Will whispered, barely audible.  
“I’m afraid I can’t hear you, Mr. Graham. You’ll have to speak up,” Lecter teased. “Do you want to fuck her?”  
“Yes,” he cried, his voice cracking. Lecter kept his eyes on Graham as he placed both hands on Abigail’s shoulders.

“Abigail, I need you to get on all-fours,” he said.  
She glanced back at him, wide-eyed.

“On the ground,” he instructed. Rising from his lap, Abigail did as she was told. Graham stood, still shaking.   
“Open your mouth for Mr. Graham,” he said, positioning himself behind her. He smirked at Graham. “If, at any point, you wish to assume my position, you are free to do so.”  
He unzipped his trousers once more and eased himself into Abigail from behind, her breath catching in her throat as she felt herself abruptly spread to accommodate him. Graham placed a hand on her flushed cheek, her eyes peering up at him from below. Her breath was laboured and beneath the curve of her sternum he could just about see her soft breasts crashing towards one another with the force of Lecter’s thrusts. He pressed himself briefly against her face, feeling her warmth through the fabric of his pants, resting against his throbbing cock. He hastily unzipped and pushed himself into her mouth, mid-gasp. He shuddered with an intense and immediate pleasure, feeling her lips purse around him as he slowly withdrew, only to push back further. 

Lecter, his back arched away from Abigail, his hands dimpling the flesh of her hips, stared lasciviously at Graham. A strand of hair became askew, drifting in front of his line of vision, but beyond this he remained cold and resolute. Studying Graham’s movements, Lecter began to mimic his pace as best he could. Soon, both men were pounding into her from either side in perfect sync. Abigail clenched her eyes shut, feeling two pairs of hands roam her flesh as both men moved faster, driving themselves harder. The air rang with dull smacks of flesh as Lecter sped up. She could feel the head of his cock swell against her, her flesh tightening around the growing force of his orgasm. Will too, panting in sharp inhalations punctuated by coarse moans, was also reaching his peak.   
Hands wrapped around her face, Will cried out and delivered three strong, short thrusts as he came into her mouth. As though pushed by witnessing Graham’s climax, Lecter dug his fingers deeper still into Abigail’s hips, looming over her as he came in short, violent bursts of ecstasy. 

Both men stayed there a moment, wilting above Abigail. Lecter was the first to dismount, delicately zipping himself once more and nonchalantly bringing Abigail and Graham a box of tissues usually reserved for Franklyn’s weeping. His post-coital glow already wearing thin, Graham felt a knot form in his stomach. He roughly pulled away from Abigail, leaving her to swallow the evidence of their misdemeanour, eyes watering. He ran a frantic hand through his hair as Abigail collected her clothes and began to dress. Lecter sat quietly at his desk, immersed in his note-taking. 

“I should think that concludes today’s session,” he said, the scratches of his fountain pen piercing his words. 

Abigail and Will silently observed him, both at a loss for what to do. Will, red with anger and shame, gritted his teeth and left without a word. Abigail stared after him, momentarily torn. Dr. Lecter did not regard her, instead focusing on his notes. Chilled by his silence after what had just transpired, Abigail made her way to the car, feeling quite hollow.

**********************************************

The ride to Lynn’s house had been unbearable. Abigail and Graham sat in tense silence, the mingling scents of cologne, sweat and semen settling on them like a queasy fog. Abigail closed her eyes in an attempt to keep nausea at bay. The entire afternoon felt more like a fevered dream than reality. Like something from a dark fantasy. In the past when she’d slept with boys, she usually came away feeling as she had done before. Sex was a playful act that had no real lasting effect. But this was different. This was serious. Possibly criminal. Between the three of them, she could not fully decipher who was in control. 

Graham pulled up to the curb, not daring to look at her.

“You’d better go inside. It’s late, your aunt will be worried,” he said blankly.

Abigail paused. She was upset and angry that he wouldn’t look at her. It made her feel as though he was judging her; that somehow she was to blame. It made her question herself. Her thoughts became so chaotic that she couldn’t separate them. Together they formed a shrill mass in her head. 

“Mr. Graham, I think-“  
“I don’t want to talk about that right now, Abigail,” he interrupted, his tone edged with warning.

Abigail swallowed her impotent rage.

“Fine,” she said, exiting the car. Before closing the door, she leaned in and addressed Graham, still looking away from her.

“You weren’t forced,” she snapped. “You knew what you were doing.”

She slammed the door in anger as he immediately sped away. She watched after his car for a moment, until the tail lights formed pinpricks on the dark horizon. 

*******************************************************

As soon as Abigail crossed the threshold of the house, she felt her skin bristle. Something wasn’t right. The light in the living room was on, but the entire house sat in stifling silence. As she entered the room, she found Lynn cradling her phone, her face gaunt and tear-stained. Upon noticing Abigail, she tried to wipe her face.  
“Abigail, honey, you’re home,” she croaked through a forced smile. “Was your session okay? Have you eaten?”

Abigail stood still, studying her aunt’s face.  
“What happened?” Abigail asked. Lynn’s face dropped again, her eyes filling with tears as she looked helplessly at her niece.  
“The hospital just called,” she said. 

Abigail felt as though she’d been hit in the stomach. Lynn didn’t need to say anything else. Draping her arm around Abigail, they made their way to the car.

*************************************************************

Abigail sat at her mother’s side. She was afraid to touch her. She could never prepare herself for the stiff coldness of a corpse. The idea that her mother, the woman who had held her, enveloped her in warm, maternal embrace – the idea that she could be cold, and hard… Abigail dared not acknowledge it. She wanted to keep her mother preserved in memory. Her mother – warm, and soft, and comforting. Not cold flesh on a hospital bed. Not a jet of blood beneath her father’s knife.

Her father.

It hit her then. She was an orphan. In less than a fortnight her world had been torn apart. Her parents, the foundations of her security…all were gone. This realization was seemingly worse in the cold confines of the hospital room. Every touch of humanity seemed absent. The white walls bore down on her, chemical odours invading her senses. It was as if real life, with all its vivid sensations, had ceased. Suddenly, a waft of cologne.  
Abigail wondered if it was her imagination; a subconscious effort to remind herself of the sensuality of the afternoon. A knock came to the door. Abigail braced herself.

“May I come in?” Lecter asked.

Abigail tensed at the sound of his voice. When no reply came, he cautiously entered, standing near the foot of the bed.  
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Abigail,” he cooed. She registered the sincerity in his voice.  
“What can I do?” she asked, seemingly directed at no one. “He died before he could feel any pain.”  
She allowed fat, slow tears to trickle down her face as Lecter watched her impassively.  
“I want to help her. I want to make it right,” she said. “But I can’t, can I? I can never do anything. This will never be fixed. No matter how much better my life gets from this point onwards, this will always be there. Staining it. Spoiling everything.”  
She brought her hands to her face and wept openly. Lecter made his way over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
“It wasn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t how it was meant to end,” she said, choking on sobs. “He should’ve just taken me. I should have made him take me.”  
Lecter pulled her closer, hushing her.

“Your father was not well, Abigail. No matter what you might’ve done differently, we cannot accurately say what his response might have been. You are not responsible for his atrocities,” he said, rubbing a hand against her back in an effort to soothe her.   
“I feel like I am,” she whispered, her face buried in his chest.   
Lecter paused a moment, considering her response, before chasing the thought from his mind. He would revisit it later, when it was more appropriate to do so. She pulled away and brushed her tears with a sleeve. Lecter took a seat beside her. She gazed forlornly at her mother’s body.  
“When I was eleven-years-old, I lost both my parents,” Lecter said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. Abigail looked to him, eyes wide with sympathy.  
“The loss of one’s parents is one of the greatest hardships one can endure,” he turned to face her, smiling softly. “But I assure you, we can and will live. We live because it is what they have willed for us. Our survival is our only way to avenge them.”

He turned his attention to the corpse, pathetic and sad in its pale hospital gown. Abigail followed his gaze, resting on her mother.  
“You have already beaten your father, Abigail,” he said. “You have beaten him because you survived. Do not let him win now.”  
Abigail exhaled, freshened by her tears. There was so much Lecter did not yet know, and still she felt he was right. Though her father would forever haunt her memory, he would not hold dominance over her. She would have control.


	4. Chapter 4

Abigail examined the small mound of earth she held in her hand and contemplated how quickly she had become distanced from her mother. From her death in the hospital she ceased to be her mother, and was instead a body. Now, chastened by an icy wind, she watched as her mother was lowered; no longer a body, but a box.   
She felt the eyes of the other mourners – a sparse collection of relatives and well-meaning nobodies – pass over her in concerned glances. The earth shifted through her slackened fingers, pelting the coffin board below with a barely audible thud. She turned, brushing her hand against her skirt, and smiled weakly to Lynn. As Lynn stepped forward to bid farewell to her sister, Dr. Lecter stepped in to guide Abigail back to her seat. Abigail hadn’t requested his presence, but he insisted he be there in the event that she found the proceedings too upsetting. Beyond the funeral itself, the threat of the media still hung on the periphery, and Lecter wanted to protect Abigail from their interference as much as possible. 

“How do you feel?” he asked gently, a hand resting on her shoulder.  
“Nothing. I mean…I don’t feel anything. I haven’t really thought about it,” she replied.

It wasn’t a lie. She was having a tremendous amount of difficulty equating the dull, heavy box in the ground with the woman who raised her. In addition to that was the quiet awareness that her father’s ashes sat in some building unknown to her, never to be collected. She opted against picking them up. She was satisfied knowing he was gone, and any time dealing with his remains would spoil this satisfaction. Amid the loss and confusion she felt regarding her parents was the troubling matter of Dr. Lecter and Mr. Graham. Will had yet to speak to her. In classes he ignored any obvious mistakes she made in her work, scarcely allowing himself to look at her. She didn’t dare bring this up in her sessions with Lecter, which were fraught with a newfound tension that unnerved her. Though the office was always impeccably clean and fragrant, she sometimes feared she could catch wafts of their tryst. As if the evidence of what had conspired would never dissipate and, worst still, she would have to carry her memory of it in silence forever. She wanted so strongly to speak frankly with them both, to understand what had happened, but both men seemed so distant to her. Will through his determined silence, and Hannibal with his poised evasiveness.   
Lynn returned to her seat beside Abigail, Hannibal bowing his head to her respectfully as she passed. 

“Dr. Lecter has offered to take care of the catering once we get home, Abigail. Isn’t that charitable of him?” Lynn asked, her eyes still red and glistening.  
“What do you mean?,” Abigail asked. “What’s happening at home?”

Lynn paused, thrown and somewhat troubled.

“It’s customary to have a small gathering after the funeral. Didn’t you know this?”  
“I just thought I’d be alone.” Abigail said.

Lynn twitched.

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be alone right now, Abi. I think you need people.”  
“What good is it having people around me if they never talk?” Abigail shot back, surprising herself. Lecter stared at her, his expression unreadable.   
“Sorry,” she muttered, rising from her seat in tandem with the rest of the procession. “I’m just a bit frustrated right now.”

Lynn nodded knowingly.

“I just need a minute. Sorry.”

Brushing past Lecter she walked from the crowd, cradling herself from the cold. People nodded their heads in sympathy as she passed and she swallowed an urge to knock against them as she walked, either out of a desire for touch or a need to hurt people, she did not know. She kept her head down, kicking pebbles along with every step, watching them skip ahead of her. Her eyes followed their minute leaps before landing upon a pair of brown, leather shoes. She looked up to meet the gaze of Will Graham, clad in an aged suit and wearing an expression that belied his discomfort with his attire. Stoney faced, Abigail stepped to one side and continued on her way. Will whipped around and tried to keep pace with her.

“Abigail, I’m sorry. I know this must be a difficult day for you.”

She stopped to face him. 

“Thank you for coming to pay your respects, Mr. Graham.”

They stared each other down a moment. He adjusted his glasses, avoiding her gaze.

“I’d like if we could talk-“  
“Mr. Graham, I just buried my mother. If you’re suggesting what I think you are, that’s pretty fucking tasteless.”

He winced.

“I know, I know. I don’t mean now. I just wanted you to know…Just in case you thought I was skirting around the issue…avoiding you…”  
“Really? You weren’t avoiding me?”

He fidgeted under her watch. 

“Well, this is a shame. I was hoping I could get a word, but it looks like you always travel with your body-guard in tow, Miss Hobbs.”

Both Abigail and Will jumped at the interruption. Turning, they saw Freddie Lounds, the same wild-haired reporter from before, approaching them. Her trusty Dictaphone was, as always, clutched and ready in her hand. Will ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. 

“Jesus Christ, don’t you people have any sense of integrity?”

Abigail couldn’t help but eye him with amusement. Freddie smiled tightly.

“You’re her teacher, aren’t you? It’s so rare to see school officials offer such a…hands-on approach with their students.”

Will paled, his posture tightening.

“What exactly are you trying to say?”  
“That depends, Mr. Graham. Is there something that deserves to be said?”

Abigail took a step back, uncertain of how Will might react. She gasped curtly as she backed into Hannibal, who softly caught her, his hands on her shoulders. Beside him, Lynn approached Freddie and Will.

“Excuse me, is everything alright?”

She flashed a worried glance at Abigail, who nodded earnestly. Freddie extended a gloved hand, placing her Dictaphone in her pocket with her free hand.

“Freddie Lounds, Tattlecrime.com. I was hoping I might have a quick word with you and Abigail.”

Lynn recoiled from the woman’s outstretched hand.

“You should leave. We’ve had a lot of upset today. Show some respect.”

Freddie lowered her hand calmly, not meeting Will’s triumphant glare. 

“Abigail, as ever, you know where to find me when you want to talk.”

She looked from Will to Hannibal, before turning her gaze back to Abigail.

“Don’t feel like you have no one to speak to.”

With that, she turned on her heels and departed. Lynn remained shaken, staring quizzically at Will.

“And you are?”

Will snapped to attention, his brief victory over Freddie dissolving.

“Will Graham. I’m Abigail’s biology teacher.”

Lynn considered this, still somewhat dazed.

“I didn’t expect the school to send anyone.”  
“I came of my own accord. I wanted to pay my respects.”

As he spoke, his eyes wandered across to Hannibal, still grasping Abigail and smirking. Lynn grasped for Abigail’s hand, which she offered obediently as Hannibal unhanded her. They nodded at the two men, preparing to make their exit.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Graham. We’re having some people back to the house now, if you’d care to join us.”  
“Abigail’s house?”

Lynn winced slightly.

“No. No, my sister’s house is still being examined.”

Will nodded. Abigail raised her hand in a half-hearted wave and with that, she and Lynn were gone. Hannibal pulled his coat closer around himself against the breeze. 

“Need me to give you a ride, Will?”

Will furrowed his brow and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking briskly towards the parking lot.

“No thank you, Dr. Lecter.”

****************************************

At home, Abigail sat in her room examining a photograph of herself and her father. In it, they both wear hunting vests and grin towards the camera, their rifles pointing downwards. It was as though that photograph held the key to a whole world of sensations. Looking at it, Abigail could smell the muskiness of the shed; feel a fawn’s pelt; taste the humidity of blood and body heat on the air; hear, in echoes, her father saying “We will honour her.”  
Her head throbbed and she was hit with a wave of nausea. She placed the photograph back at her bedside table and lay down. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

The door creaked open to reveal Will. Behind him, Hannibal followed, a tray in his hands.

“We thought you might be hungry,” Hannibal said.

Will forced a smile as Hannibal placed the tray on Abigail’s lap. Her eyes widened as she examined the morsels on display. It wasn’t until she was hit with the smell of food, its heat gently pressing against her lap, that she became aware of how hungry she was.

“What is it?,” she asked.  
“A bit of everything,” Hannibal smiled. “A few h’orderves you might like to try, and a plate of venison and seasonal vegetables. Let me know if there’s anything that doesn’t agree with you.”

Abigail paled.

“Venison?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, trying to brighten her expression.

“No…no. It’s just…just my dad used to make us venison.”

Hannibal frowned.

“I’m sorry, Abigail, it didn’t occur to me. You must think I’m terribly insensitive.”

She smiled.

“It’s OK.”

To prove her point, she skewered a tender flake of meat with her fork and brought it to her mouth. Her eyes almost watered from the pleasure of its rich taste. She swallowed dutifully.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

Hannibal smiled in response as Will drew up a chair and began to clean his glasses.  
“Abigail, Dr. Lecter and I feel the three of us should talk.”

Abigail took another bite, chewing slowly and deliberately. She nodded. Will placed his glasses back upon his nose and looked to Hannibal for assistance.

“I think I speak for everyone here when I stress that what happened in Dr. Lecter’s office can never be repeated.”

Abigail swallowed.

“Repeated?” she asked. “As in…we can’t talk about it to anyone?”  
“As in it can never happen again,” Will answered. “You’re undergoing a lot of difficult changes right now and you can’t be expected to approach certain situations…rationally.”  
“Do you think I’m irrational?” Her face began to flush with indignation.  
“Will is worried for your welfare, Abigail. He doesn’t want you doing anything you might later regret.”  
“When did I express regret?”

Abigail stared at both men. Will nervously avoided her gaze. Hannibal looked right at her, his face unreadable. Abigail smiled in disbelief.

“Look, I get that you’re both trying to cover your own asses right now-“  
“Abigail-“ Will interrupted, but Abigail persisted.  
“I haven’t told anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. So you can give it a rest with all your projecting.”  
Hannibal smiled softly.  
“I get that you might regret what happened,” Abigail continued. “But don’t put words in my mouth. You know nothing about me. You’ve come to my house the day of my mom’s funeral to ask me not to cost you your job?”  
“Abigail, that’s not why we’re here,” Will assured.  
“Yeah well, don’t worry about it. You and I will pass each other in classrooms with our heads down til I graduate, I won’t say anything to principal Crawford.”  
Beneath the tray, her knees shook. Will exhaled deeply. Abigail moved the tray to one side and stood up.  
“Thank you for the food, Dr. Lecter, but I think I should go downstairs to my family.”

He nodded in understanding and she left. Will rubbed his temples, slackening where he sat.

“Thanks for all your help, Doctor,” he said flatly.

Hannibal took a seat on the bed across from him. 

“Do you feel guilty, Will?” he asked.  
“Don’t you?” he shot back.

Hannibal leaned forward, linking his fingers between his knees.

“She’s right though,” Will continued. “It was selfish of me to come here today, I was only thinking of my own welfare.”  
He sighed and looked at the ceiling.  
“I should speak to Crawford,” he said. “Maybe if I explain it to him personally we can keep it discreet, I’ll still have a hope of getting a job somewhere else.”  
“Seems like an easy escape. I didn’t take you for one prone to fantasy, Will,” Lecter said, lifting an h’orderve to his lips.  
Will sat up to face him.   
“Are you suggesting I keep quiet?” Will asked.  
Hannibal tilted his head in thought.

“Merely suggesting that it might not be in your control. It’s an attractive piece of information, one that’s likely to spread without your permission.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Do you think that reporter earlier could smell it on you? I wouldn’t put it past her to write an expose anyway, such outlets rarely require confirmation on rumours.”  
Will leaned forward, his expression darkening. Hannibal took another bite.  
“Are you blackmailing me?”  
“Certainly not, Will. If you go down, we all do. I have my career. Abigail has her mental health. It’s better for all of us if this stays quiet.”  
“Are you saying I shouldn’t tell Crawford? That I should just shut up about this and act like it didn’t happen?” he asked, his voice beginning to rise.   
“Precisely,” Hannibal said, finishing his finger food. “Unless it’s the forgetting that bothers you.”

Will breathed steadily, studying Hannibal’s face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Perhaps you should keep quiet until you better understand what drove you to your actions that day in my office, Will.”

He leaned in closer, his breath ticking against Will’s face. Will twitched, fighting the urge to back away.

“It might be best if you understand what happened before you go running to Crawford.”

With that, Hannibal kissed Will, his tongue forcing its way against Will’s hesitant lips. He broke away, licked his fingers clean from his food and stood. 

“By all means, finish what’s on the tray,” he said, before leaving Will alone in Abigail’s room, his head reeling.


	5. Chapter 5

Abigail shoved a shoulder against the door of her locker, feeling it shudder with a metallic creak before smoothly springing open.  _There's a strategy for everything_. Her father's words jangled in her skull. She frowned in spite of herself. Say what you wanted about her father - he was manipulative, he was secretive and yes, as had recently come to light, he was a murderer. But he was also right, at least when it came to strategy. As the days since her parents' deaths bled into weeks, Abigail had learned just how integral strategies were to her new life; as a way of coping, as a way of maintaining some semblance of control. Her life had become a rigid pattern of strategic actions and behaviours, tailored towards damage control. She remained silent in class until questioned. She kept interactions with fellow students brief and superficial. She never cried in front of Lynn, or Dr. Lecter. She passed between school, home, and her therapy sessions as surely and dependably as a hand on a clock. In the brief moments before she fell asleep at night, feeling her body melt into the softness of her bed, she became vulnerable to thoughts of her mother, her father, Mr. Graham and Dr. Lecter. In those twilight moments before she gratefully surrendered her consciousness to sleep, her freedom frightened her. She still needed a strategy for the night.

Cradling her books in the crook of her arm, Abigail closed her locker to find Ms. Alana Bloom, the school counselor, standing at her side. Her breath caught momentarily, startled, while Ms. Bloom hid her laughter behind a polite smile.

"Did I frighten you?" she asked. Abigail shook her head, flushed and laughing.  
"No, you're fine. Just didn't see you there."  
"It's nice to see you laughing, Abigail."

Abigail nodded awkwardly by way of response, unsure of what to say. Though she agreed. It was nice to laugh. It had been a while.  
  
"Are you free to talk for a minute?" Bloom asked, her eyes regarding Abigail warmly. Abigail had never had to speak to Bloom before, but she knew of kids who had. Students whose parents had recently divorced, or who were grieving over dead relatives. Broken home stuff. She supposed there were kids who spoke to Bloom after having been the victims of assault, sexual abuse. But she didn't know of any specifically. She just assumed that they must exist. Before the death of her parents, before her new life, she regarded Bloom from the outside as a kind and patient figure. The sort of person you'd want on your side if things went really bad. No surprise, then, that she was being called to speak with her. Things had, of course, gone really bad.

"Sure..." Abigail replied, shoving her books into her bag. Bloom tilted her head in the direction of the nearest exit.  
"Let's walk," she smiled. "You need a hand with those?"  
She nodded towards the heavy books poking haphazardly from the opening of Abigail's bag. Abigail shook her head and followed Bloom outside.

 

*************************************************************

 

Wading through stacks of dry, yellowing leaves, Abigail watched her breath steam in front of her, across the frigid air, Alana keeping pace with her.

"I didn't think I'd have to see a school counselor," Abigail said, savouring the crunch of leaves underfoot. "I thought part of the reason I was sent to Dr. Lecter was because my case was..."  
She paused. What was her case? Too difficult for the administration? Maybe, but saying so would sound like an insult to Ms. Bloom. If Bloom picked up on the insinuation, she let it slide.  
  
"Strictly speaking, you're right," Bloom said. "I'm not equipped to be your psychiatrist, and I would never attempt to interfere with or distract from your work with Hannibal."

Abigail's ears perked at the mention of his first name.

"You know Dr. Lecter?"

Alana smiled.

"He's something of a mentor. You're in very capable hands, Abigail."

Abigail blushed, pushing the memory of Lecter's hands, the pressure of them on her body, to the back of her mind. 

"Though while I'm not looking to counsel you through your trauma...," Alana continued. Abigail winced. Her trauma. She was still getting used to these new, warped possessions people kept thrusting upon her. Her trauma. Her loss. Her ordeal.   
"...I am here to help you through any difficulties you might be facing at school. The faculty are keen to ensure that you don't find yourself alienated from the rest of the student body."

"That's nice of them," Abigail said flatly. She didn't particularly care about the rest of the student body. Though everyone was civil and sympathetic to her in person, she would still catch whispers of rumours through the corridors. Girls who swore blind that her father had tried to lure them to his cabin. Boys who claimed they'd seen him in the woods, bloody-faced and mauling the carcass of a deer. Stupid adolescent posing, seeing who could come up with the craziest story. As far as Abigail was concerned, the story was crazy enough as it was. She just wanted to lay it to rest. 

Alana slowed to a stop, hands in her pockets.

"I'm more worried about how you've been coping, Abigail," she said.

"I've been coping fine," Abigail shrugged.

"That's what worries me."

Abigail raised her eyebrows, smiling incredulously.

"You're worried I've been dealing with things  _too_ well?" she asked.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to keep things to yourself," Alana offered. "Don't isolate yourself. What do you do after school? Are you keeping yourself occupied?"

"I go to therapy. The rest of the time, I sit in my room. Listen to music," she shrugged.

"Yeah? Anything good?"

"No," Abigail laughed. "Most of my stuff is still back at the house, if it's not already under Federal custody. I've been raiding Lynn's collection. A lot of Huey Lewis."

Alana laughed heartily and pulled a faux-grimace. 

"Beyond that, are you doing anything...social?"

Abigail shook her head.

"No. Not yet. It would be weird," she said. Alana nodded.

"I understand," Alana said. "But it's important to get out sometime. Maybe it's something to think about."

"I guess..."

"Look, entirely up to you, but if you want to come by my office during school hours and talk...even if it's just about Huey Lewis-"   
Abigail laughed.  
"Feel free. At any time. The teachers understand, they won't make a fuss about it. We don't have to discuss the case. I think it might be better for you if we don't, actually."

"Yeah, OK," Abigail smiled.

"Great," Alana said. "So, here's what I want you to do - make a list of activities you want to do at some point. Anything you want. It can be as simple as shopping or as crazy as sky-diving, just list them out and bring them to me. OK?"

"OK..." Abigail said, uncertain but undeniably happy. Alana beamed.

"Great! Now, you need a ride home?"

Abigail shook her head, shuffling her feet through the leaves.

"No thanks. It's nice out. I'd rather walk."

*********************************************************

 

As Abigail approached Lynn's house, cheeks stinging from the cold, she spotted Mr. Graham's car parked by the curb and frowned. She quickened her pace, huffing against the chill. She fretfully imagined him speaking with Lynn, telling her everything about what happened in Lecter's office, seeking absolution. If he had any sense he'd leave Lynn alone. She had enough to contend with. Abigail cursed herself silently. She wasn't really thinking about how this would effect Lynn. She was thinking about herself, panicking at this perceived lack of control. She needed to start being honest with herself, if with no one else. 

Coming to the drive-way, she saw Graham sat on the porch, a pack of dogs scrambling for his attention. She stood, stunned, as Will rose, smiling sheepishly.

"I figured you were due an introduction," he called out over the pants and yelps of his pets. "Lynn said we could wait outside for you."

Abigail eyed the flurry of animals with disbelief and coughed a laugh.

"Mr. Graham, I think you have a problem," she said.

Will ducked his head coyly, nodding in agreement. 

"You wouldn't be the first to say so," he replied.

Dangling her backpack from one shoulder, she made her way to the porch, the dogs swarming towards her, straining against their leashes. She giggled as they descended, all paws and sniffing snouts.

"Do they all have names?" she asked.

"Of course they do!" Will exclaimed with mock-offence. 

Abigail ruffled the fur of a scrappy Jack Russell while Will struggled to keep the rest of his pack calm. 

"How was school?" he asked, fiddling with his glasses anxiously.

"It was OK," Abigail shrugged, letting the terrier gnaw playfully on her knuckles. "Ms. Bloom wants me to start coming by her office."

"Yeah?" Will wheezed, a labrador sitting heavily onto his lap. He battled with the animal, searching for a way around it so he could still meet Abigail's gaze. "What for?"

"Just to talk. Not about the case, just...I don't know. About normal things. Not like with Lecter."

Will stiffened.

"It might be good for you," he stated. "I'm not sure how good Dr. Lecter is for you right now."

Abigail frowned, pulling her hand away from the dog in front of her. It licked her fingers in an attempt to coax her back. 

"Is that why you're here? To get me to cancel my sessions?" She asked flatly. Will adjusted his glasses again. 

"No..." he stressed. "No, I'm here to apologize for my behaviour at the funeral. It was inappropriate of me to broach the subject of...it was inappropriate and, as you rightly said, tasteless. I was panicked, anxious. It's no excuse. I'm sorry, Abigail."

She reached out a hand to pat the labrador on his lap. The dog panted happily, reaching over to Abigail.

"Forget about it," Abigail sighed. "I don't want to think about that stuff any more."  _There's a strategy for everything._ She shook her head to silence thoughts of her father. Will nodded solemnly.

"Have you ever gone fishing, Abigail?" he asked. She smiled, unsure of what he was getting at.

"No...?"

More fiddling with glasses.  _He should really get contacts_ Abigail thought to herself.

"I find it helps. For, y'know, not thinking about things. It's peaceful," Will said. "I could take you sometime, if that would help."

"I'll put it on my list for Ms. Bloom," Abigail teased. 

"What?"

"Nevermind."

**************************************************

 

Hannibal sat at his desk, absently sketching a suit of samurai armor from memory. It was a spectre from his youth, impressive and forboding, its reverence penetrating the atmosphere of his time spent with his aunt Murasaki. He considered the craft of smithing a katana; the precision, the patience, and respect it demanded. Any lapse in these qualities would result in an inferior blade, only fit to be cast away. If crafted carefully, however, the sword could be on object of great beauty and devastation. He played with ideas of casting and molding, of bending materials to beauty and sharpness. For what he wanted would require precision, patience, and respect. 

A knock at his door woke him from his reverie. He thumbed a page of his diary, ensuring he had not forgotten an appointment. More furious knocking followed. He rose calmly from his desk, making his way to the door. He opened it to reveal Will, mid-knock, flushed and flustered. Will abruptly lowered his fist and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his nostrils flaring.

"Mr. Graham," Hannibal crooned. "I wasn't expecting you. Please come in."

Will stormed past him, his hand clutched tightly around a piece of paper, his knuckles white. He paced shortly, buzzing with anger, as Hannibal closed and locked the door. 

"What the hell is this?" Will asked, holding the piece of paper aloft, his hand shaking. 

"An invitation," Hannibal calmly replied. Will ran a hand through his hair and began to read from the sheet.

"'Dr. Hannibal Lecter humbly requests your company and that of Miss Abigail Hobbs for dinner-' just what the fuck are you thinking? What exactly are you trying to achieve, Doctor?" He spat the word "doctor" like an insult. 

Hannibal leaned against his desk, hands behind him, idling beside his pencils and scalpels. 

"I thought it might give us a chance to clear the air. I think you'll agree that there's been something of a breakdown of communication between the three of us."

"And rightly so!" Will snapped. "There shouldn't be communication between us. We can't be seen to be...fraternizing..."

A smirk from Lecter.

"I take it you've had no contact with Abigail then?" he asked, eyes darkly gleaming. Will tensed.

"I spoke with her today, I wanted to apologize for my behaviour at the funeral. For what it's worth, she seems stable, but I think it's best for all of us to just leave things as they are."

"You think that's wise? What will happen should someone get Abigail on her own? She's a young woman, Will, she's very trusting. What should happen if she confides in someone?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen that Lounds woman circling Abigail like a buzzard," Hannibal grimaced with distaste. "Don't think people like her don't have alternate ways of getting a story. And don't think Abigail's schoolmates are above taking money from Lounds to play nice with Abigail."

Will sat down heavily, cradling his head in his hands. 

"So what, then? We tell her she can't trust anyone?" 

Hannibal frowned thoughtfully.

"She can trust us," he offered. "And together we'll devise a strategy."

He took a seat across from Will, watching his chest heave with anger.

"We need each other, Will," he said. 

Will laughed bitterly and looked Hannibal dead in the eye, his gaze stormy and unwavering.

"Don't think I don't know what you are," he growled. "You've manipulated Abigail, you've manipulated me. I'm culpable now. We'll devise a strategy for damage control, but after that we're done. You leave me alone. And you stay. Away. From her."

He rose to his feet, glaring down at Hannibal.

"Beyond that, I don't need you."

Hannibal rose, stepping towards Will, imposing himself upon him. 

"I think you might, Will. I think I can help you," he said softly. Will shook with rage, avoiding Hannibal's gaze.

"You're quaking with anger and you're still holding yourself back, Will. Why? What lies beyond the threshold that frightens you so much?"

He placed a hand on Will's collar, straightening it. Will grasped his wrist forcefully.

"Don't," he ordered. Hannibal remained still, his wrist still clutched, and began to trace his fingers along Will's adam's apple.

"I want you to show me how angry you are," he instructed. 

Will released his grip and stepped back from Hannibal, his hands running from his temples to his hair. 

"Don't swallow it," Hannibal said. "Step over the precipice. Show me."

"Just stop!" Will barked, his hand flashing out and making contact with Hannibal's throat. He felt Hannibal's pulse struggling beneath his grip, a euphoric sense of release as he embraced his anger fully. He pulled Hannibal closer towards him, enjoying the rasp of his breath. Placing his free hand behind Hannibal's head, he tugged at a handful of hair. His erection strained against his pants. He roughly pushed Hannibal against a nearby bookshelf, releasing his hands and revelling in the heavy thump of Hannibal's body against the tomes behind him. He pinned Hannibal with his own weight, and dove into the curve of Hannibal's neck, biting feverishly at his flesh. 


End file.
